Are You Really Going to Wear That?
A Difference of Appearance
I treat my son like a girl. There are some people who will tell me that I do this because he is a “girl.” He tells me differently. Kid #2 is an AFAB transgender male. For those not in the know, AFAB stands for Assigned Female at Birth. Of course, it actually happened before birth. The pink and lacy clothes were being bought and put into the chest of drawers that had been painted especially for the girl to be born months before Birth Day.
I wish I could say that I am not someone who subscribes to all the so-called gender norms, but it is more deeply ingrained than I ever realized. I have two children, one of them was assigned male, the other female. And, I was determined that I would not put them into a gender box from the beginning. And yet the choices I so “freely” made about colors and clothes and bedding and paint fit very neatly into those very boxes.
They both had dolls. They both had cars. But, the boy’s room was all blues and submarines and fish. The girl’s was all yellows and flowers and pink. God, I loved putting that child into some bright colors. Maybe that is why they primarily wear only black now!
The process of transitioning is not a straight line from A to B, not for the person transitioning and certainly not for that person’s parents. I don’t know for certain when the kid started processing it. I imagine it was with the onset of puberty which was awfully early for this one. It was shortly after that when he started giving us clues that the story may not follow the script we had in mind.
Recently the director with whom I’m currently working told the cast, “There are no mistakes. There are just things that happen differently than expected.” Some of the most exciting moments in live theatre are when actors (or furniture or sets) go off script. This is good to remember in our daily living as well.
There are lots of reasons that we end up treating each of our kids differently. My kids have completely different temperaments, so what I would gladly say to one with no fear of “a scene,” I would never say to the other because I know it will just require too much energy. I would like to be able to believe this is why I treat Kid #2 differently than Kid #1, but the truth, I fear, is not that simple or reasonable.
Recently, I’ve become aware that I talk about appearance a whole lot more with Kid #2. Sometimes it is as simple as, “Hey, do you think this shirt looks okay with this skirt?” I know they have an opinion and will share it. And, I trust that opinion. But, had he not been AFAB, would I do this? There is no way to know for certain though I have a feeling I would not. I do not ask Kid #1 the same questions. In fact, Kid #1 has worn some pretty ridiculous things — who wears short shorts? — but I haven’t asked, “Are you really going to wear that?”
This is what I mean when I say I treat my son like a girl. It makes me want to throw up because if you had asked me before I had children if I would be like this, I would have sworn there was no way this feminist, this strong woman, would do such a thing. There was no way that I would focus on appearance at all — especially not because of something like assigned gender.
Of course, it goes beyond asking fashion advice. I am the stereotypical middle-aged mother to a teenage girl. The problem with that is, well there are so many problems with that. First and foremost, the so-called girl is adamantly not a girl. But, let’s pause for just a moment and pretend that this child continues to identify the way they were assigned at birth. What the hell am I doing making all these comments on hair and clothes and shoes anyway?
Here is how this came to my attention. You may think that Kid #2 pointed it out. Nope. He quietly seethes and rarely complains. He is contrary about everything, but would never call me out for such a blatant double-standard. Kid #1 walked into the room and was wearing something I had not seen before. I said, “Wow, you look really nice.” And, something in the back of my mind went “CLICK.”
CLICK: You don’t often comment on this one’s looks or clothes.
CLICK: You comment on the other one’s looks and clothes multiple times a week.
The biggest problem of all is that if we weren’t in the middle of a gender transition, I probably never would have even noticed that I do this. And, I, just like so many poor and dear mothers before me would continue the cycle of making our daughters feel and believe that their looks are the most important thing about them.
Oh, I never say such a thing. I talk about being smart and funny. I encourage exploring math and science. But, then too often my comments are, “Oh, I like your hair like that,” which doesn’t sound so bad really except when you start adding it all up.
“Those pants are kind of tight, aren’t they?”
“Why do you have so much eye liner on?”
“Is that what you have chosen to wear for school pictures?”
“Your shoes remind me of Herman Munster.”
If I had kept a spreadsheet of the types of comments I make to each of my kids, there would be far too many about physical appearance on Kid #2’s spreadsheet.
It doesn’t end there. I ask questions about my own appearance or talk about periods or having babies or boobs all in a way I never do with the other kid. I like having someone to say,
“Hey, I need your help. Come assist me in putting on my sports bra, pull it down in the back because I’m so sweaty I can’t get it untangled.”
And, the kid does it. Laughs at me, but does it without making too big a deal about it. Trust me when I tell you, this would not go over so well with Kid #1. My bra would remain in a bunch.
I wanted to have a companion in the feminine.
One of the hardest things for me when he first told us he is a boy was feeling like my own womanhood had been rejected. It is a valid feeling. I don’t care what anyone says. It is absolutely ridiculous and making the entire issue all about ME, but it is a valid feeling nonetheless. I felt like I was being left behind. Of course, I was not being left behind. I was being invited along for the trip, invited into the process. And this is all a part of that process.
Sometimes I treat my son like a girl.
